


need you more than I know

by artificialromance



Series: we were strangers [2]
Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: (very mild I mean the "plot" is dmitry gets a cut and anya tries to help him w/ it), F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Mild Blood, Pining, anya is so beautiful, as always, aw yeahhh we love pining dima, but we knew that already, dima's so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 13:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15752409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificialromance/pseuds/artificialromance
Summary: “The nurses in the hospital ranged from strict to kind, but my favorite was a woman named Helena. I'm pretty sure she's the one who started calling me Anya. She’s one of the kindest people I’ve met, to this day.” Her face softens into a distant smile, and it’s more than enough to make Dmitry forget where he is and the sharp pain from the cut on his hand. “She really took a liking to me. I don’t know why.”“Why not?” he says without thinking. Because in Dmitry’s mind, there are infinite reasons why and infinitesimal reasons why not.





	need you more than I know

“You’re bleeding.”

He opens his mouth to call her out for stating the obvious, but bites his tongue. “Yeah. I’m fine, though.”

“Let me take another look.”

Dmitry puts his hands behind his back in protest, but Anya is quick to grab his wrist with a firm grip. She examines his palm, and tugs the cut open further with her thumb to examine its depth. It stings, and Dmitry grits his teeth.

“This could get infected. It should be cleaned,” she says, looking up at him.

“I said I’ll be fine! I’ve dealt with worse, and it’s not exactly like I’ve ever been to the doctor. I'll survive.”

Anya sighs. “You’re unbelievable.”

“ _Me?_   You’re the one blowing this, this papercut out of proportion!” He raises his voice.

“From that pocketknife of yours? A papercut, sure! I’d easily let you get infected and die, but since I need you to get to Paris, I’m trying to help you reduce your risk of dying in the middle of nowhere, Europe. It’s your lucky day. Now, enough games,” she says as she reaches into her bag.

“I don’t need you to take care of me. You don’t like that either. Don’t be hypocritical.” She freezes. _Shit._

“Take that back.”

“Okay, fine. You’re not a hypocrite. But there’s no need to push.”

“For God’s sake, Dmitry,” Her tone is pleading, exasperated. “This isn’t about your accident. It’s about your pride. The three of us are a team now, whether you like it or not.” He tries to ignore the way his chest drops at Anya’s notion that he doesn’t like journeying with her, as if the last couple of weeks weren’t the best since he lost his father. “I know about not having people who worry about you all your life.”

“You don’t know that yet—“

“I'm not finished,” she snaps. “And either way, it’s just the same. I only had a family in my dreams. Nobody was there each day to feed or look after me, either, for as long as I can remember. I know what you're doing. You never want to ask someone for help. Because independence is the one thing you’ve made for yourself, the only thing you have to be  _proud_ of. So you cling to it, never let it go.” She holds up his hand by the wrist. “But right now, Vlad is looking for food. I’m setting up our bedding. And you’re supposed to start the fire. But you can’t, not with a wounded hand. Your blood’s going to wet the wood, for starters. And with three of us now, guess who else is left without a fire? Not just you this time.” Dmitry looks down at his hand to avoid her piercing stare. It hasn’t stopped bleeding yet.

“You told me you’re clever. If you were being honest, use it.” She lets go of his wrist, and goes over to one of Vlad's bags. She takes out a glass bottle of vodka and a piece of cloth. “Sit.”

He does as she says. He doesn’t respond, because she’s right, and there’s really nothing else he can think to say for a while. She beams with pride from the win, and he lets her revel in it (if only because she deserves it this time and Dmitry's trying to play fair lately).

“I thought I’d have to push way more buttons to render you speechless. You’re an easier read than I thought,” she says as she joins him on the grass.

“Never let it be said my teammates weren’t the smartest around,” he said, turning the attention back toward himself. She rolls her eyes and he hears her say “this might hurt” and count to two all in a moment just before he feels a sharp stinging in his palm. The sudden, searing pain has Dmitry sucking air in through his teeth to cope. Anya winces slightly at his reaction, but quickly wipes the alcohol-soaked cloth across the wound a few times before finally pressing the cloth down on the cut. Her hands are significantly smaller than his, so she uses both of hers to apply the pressure. Her fingers are gentle against his, her touch ginger and light. Still staring down at his hand, she begins telling a story, a welcome distraction from the dull sting that persists from the antiseptic’s proximity.

“The nurses in the hospital ranged from strict to kind, but my favorite was a woman named Helena. I'm pretty sure she's the one who started calling me Anya. She’s one of the kindest people I’ve met, to this day.” Her face softens into a distant smile, and it’s more than enough to make Dmitry forget where he is and the sharp pain from the cut on his hand. “She really took a liking to me. I don’t know why.”

“Why not?” he says without thinking. Because in Dmitry’s mind, there are infinite reasons why and infinitesimal reasons why not.

Anya shakes her head in passive dismissal, and it’s a new and soft kind of hurt, in his chest that Anya doesn’t know how much of her there is to like. He silently vows to remind her more, or at least to tease her less. But Dmitry never was the best at new habits.

“She would tell me stories to quiet my head after it was such a blank mess when I woke up. But after a while, I told her I liked the stories, but I’d need to know something a little more useful going into the world all alone, no offense. She laughed and told me I was a smart girl. Then she told me ways to take care of basic injuries. She let me watch her during my stay, as she would tend to wounds, conjure remedies for fevers, and soothe children. It was like a very small, very informal apprenticeship, you could say.” She looks back up at Dmitry, and her eyes don’t accuse him anymore, but they’re just as focused, just as kind.

Then, all of a sudden, she ties the cloth around his hand. “Your palm is pretty mobile, so it’ll probably keep hurting as it heals. Try to move it slowly, and slightly.” She flips his palm back over to pat the back of his hand. “Lucky for you, I taught _myself_ how to make a fire, so even though you’re out of a job for the night, nobody’s freeing to death on my watch,” she says, reaching into his pocket for his knife and standing up.

As Dmitry tries to join her, she pushes his shoulder down and makes a sound of disapproval. “What did we _just_ talk about? Rest up and let your hand heal. It’s easy enough of a task for anyone.”

“Maybe I was wrong before. It could be that I’m not as quick a learner as I thought,” he smiles.

“I wish Helena were here now—for your sake, of course. You’re such a hopeless case, though, I don’t know if it’s worth it if we could very well be wasting her time,” she grins as she arranges the wood.

“Haha, very funny. And for the record, I do like being on a team with you. I don’t think I could imagine anybody better to go on a life-changing trip-slash-escape with.” He forces the words out. Not because he doesn’t mean them (he does), but because he supposes honesty for him now will be like the time he tried to learn to juggle to earn some money busking—awkward at first, and entirely unnatural, but practice makes perfect until one day he gets to a point where he could legitimately call himself a juggler. Or in this case, an honest man. The idea was almost laughable—once a con man, always a con man—but if Anya could live two entirely different lives, maybe it wasn’t all that impossible.

“You really mean that?” she says, turning to face him, her expression tender with the now palpable compassion between them.

“Of course I do.” He doesn’t know what he expected, but Anya climbing over to where he was to wrap her arms around him in a tight, warmhearted embrace wasn’t at the top of the non-existent list. It takes him a moment to process what being hugged feels like, but he reciprocates as soon as he gets the hang of it, arms slowly traveling upward until he's holding her and she's holding him. They're holding each other, with intention and care. It's a beautiful moment, enough to make a tear or two prick his eyes if he weren't so distracted by his shock at the gesture.

“I feel the same.” Dmitry’s not sure what she means, but he certainly doesn’t think she means it in the way that he does: that sometimes the things he says bring _her_ an ache in places of her heart she thought would lie dormant for a lifetime, or if _she’s_ more guilty and regretful after bickering with him than she’s ever felt after bickering with anyone else she’s ever been close to.

He doesn’t think she means that she’s also unsure if she might be in love with Dmitry, too—or whatever being in love even means to a couple of rough-and-tough, lonely street kids.

But then again, maybe she does.

The possibility of the possibility is enough to set off a family of butterflies in his own stomach.

She pulls away, completely unaware, completely satisfied and completely Anya.

“Thank you, Dima.”

He just nods.

**Author's Note:**

> two quick things  
> \- I wrote this on a whim from 12 to 2 am bc I fucking love dimya (perfectly wrong by shawn mendes was playing on repeat the entire time)  
> \- please clean your wounds with antiseptics specifically designed for cleaning wounds do not try the vodka thing at home (even though it is a real thing) xo 
> 
> as always, please leave kudos if you liked it or even a comment if you're feeling generous! It really does mean a lot to me <3 thanks for reading lovelies


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